


Butt Machine II: The Rise of the Machines

by November Snowflake (novembersnow)



Series: The Butt Machine Sequence [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Butt machine, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 06:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novembersnow/pseuds/November%20Snowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Ron's Little Secret." Because nothing says love like a butt machine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butt Machine II: The Rise of the Machines

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted August 3, 2004.
> 
> Dedicated, of course, to Ivy.

Harry was just going out the door when Draco Malfoy's head appeared in his fireplace. "Potter," he said, lip curled not unattractively. "Are you coming over this afternoon?"

Harry winced and stepped back into the room. "I wish I could. But I told you I have to check on Ron's flat for him while he's away."

"And why does the Weasel need you in his flat? Surely there's nothing worth stealing in there."

Harry made a face at him. "He has a lot of plants that Neville gave him as a housewarming gift. Plus Crookshanks and Pig need to be fed."

"Crook—oh, Granger's mangy cat?"

"He's not mangy."

"Well, he's ill-tempered."

"No, he's not. He just hates _you_."

"Evidence enough of his plebeian tastes."

Harry stared at Draco for a moment. "I can't believe you're assessing the tastes of a cat."

By the tilt of Draco's head, Harry could tell he was shrugging. "Pets reflect their owners."

"Oh yeah?" Harry said. "And what does that pure white ferret of yours that you keep such a secret say about you?"

Draco scowled. "Oh, just get over here and shag me already, will you?"

"I told you," Harry sighed. "I'm house sitting."

"Can't you do it later?" Draco whined.

"No, I can't," Harry said firmly. "Because if I put it off to visit you, we both know I'll end up with you for hours and forget entirely about my responsibilities."

"Would that really be such a bad thing?"

"You know, you look ridiculous when you bat your eyes like that."

Draco glared. "I wouldn't have to resort to wheedling if you would just get your arse over here."

"My _perfect_ arse."

"You're never going to let me live that comment down, are you?"

"Nope," Harry replied happily. He paused and thought for a moment. "You know," he said, "you could always come with me."

"Into the den of the Weasel?" he sneered. "Perish the thought."

"But Draco," Harry said, his eyes starting to gleam. "Don't you remember? Ron has—the thing."

Draco looked confused. "The—" And then it hit him, and his eyes widened. " _Oh_. The _thing_. The thing you told me about?"

"That's the one."

"I'll meet you there."

*

Draco Apparated into the hallway outside of Ron's flat moments after Harry. He wrinkled his nose. "Ah," he said, "eau de poverty."

"Ron's not poor," Harry responded automatically, so used to defending his friends to Draco that he didn't even have to think. "He has a perfectly good job with the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

"Quidditch Regulator," Draco sneered. "Ah yes. Such an impressive position."

"Not everyone can lead an indolent life of luxury like you, Malfoy."

"Are you saying you don't want me to be your sugar daddy anymore, Potter?"

"Don't you get bored lazing around the Manor all day?"

"How can I be bored with you to distract me?"

Harry sighed. "Malfoy, what did I say about the eye batting?"

"Well," Draco huffed, "you can't fault a man for trying."

Harry turned the charmed key Ron had left him, then held the door for Draco to enter ahead of him. While Harry watered the plants and offered food and a bit of conversation to Pig and Crookshanks, Draco prowled through the flat, making disparaging comments.

In the living room: "Orange! Orange, on a Weasley!"

In the kitchen: "How can anyone expect to entertain with a kitchen this small? The house elves would revolt!"

In the bedroom: "Weasley calls this a bedroom? This must be the intended as the physical representation of his manly prowess. No wonder he's so grouchy all the time."

Harry groaned. "Let it go, already, Malfoy, will you?" 

Draco popped up in front of Harry again, bright-eyed and grinning. "It's just good to confirm all my preconceptions about the Weasel's inability to create a habitable living space."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"You done yet?" Draco pouted.

"Just about, yes."

If possible, Draco's eyes got brighter. "Then show me the thing!"

Harry grasped his hand and led him down the hall to the sealed room. He placed his other hand on the doorknob, then turned to look into Draco's excited face. "Remember, you can't tell _anyone_ about this."

Draco nodded eagerly, and Harry murmured the words to deactivate the locking charm on the door. When the door swung open, Draco's face took on an expression not unlike that of one who has seen a miracle—wide-eyed, open, and luminous.

The chrome gleamed in late-afternoon sunshine, and the leather seat was oiled to a high shine. The rubber object mounted to the end of a pole seemed almost to emanate its own light, and Harry could hear Draco swallow hard next to him, and feel his hand gripped more tightly. "It's…it's beautiful," Draco whispered, hoarse with emotion. Harry turned to look at him, and saw that tears had crept into the corners of his eyes. "I've never seen anything like it."

Harry laughed and led him closer to inspect it. Draco's fingers lit with reverence on gears and pistons and restraints, his breath expelling in wonder when one finger traced the outline of heavy rubber, eyes sliding sideways to look at Harry. "Ever fancy riding one as big as that?"

Harry nudged him with a shoulder. "You don't have to _fancy_ anything, Malfoy."

Draco blushed a little and detached his hand from Harry's to trace along the front of Harry's trousers instead. "Too right," he murmured. "But imagine something…indefatigable."

Harry's own breath was coming in shorter bursts, and he stepped backward, bumping against the wall. "Oh, believe me, I have."

Draco turned to him, his expression wicked. "What's stopping us, Harry?"

Harry's mouth fell open. "But—it's Ron's! I mean, he uses it!"

"Oh, please." Draco waved a hand in dismissal. "Like a fine object like this shouldn't get a better workout than the one a _Weasley_ can provide."

"I'm sure he gives it a pretty good workout," Harry muttered, but didn't object when Draco's caresses outside of his trousers became more purposeful.

Draco moved his face closer, and before Harry could even take a breath to make another comment about that bloody eye-batting, Draco murmured the magic words. 

"Where does he hide the lube?"

*

It was with surprise and pleasure that Harry opened his door a week later to find Ron standing outside. "Ron!" he said happily. "You're back! Come on in and have a drink."

He led a strangely silent Ron into the small kitchen and set a charm-warmed bottle of Butterbeer in front of him. Ron gripped it in one hand, but didn't make eye contact.

"How was your trip?" Harry prompted, smiling. "Everything still in one piece at home?"

Finally Ron looked at him levelly. "Harry, I want you to have the butt machine."

Harry blinked. "I know I did a good job house sitting, but even so—"

Ron pushed the bottle away from himself with a grimace. "It's not because of that."

"What, then?"

Ron opened his mouth, then shut it again, frowning. "Consider it an early birthday gift," he said.

"But my birthday isn't for ten months."

"Then consider it an early Christmas present."

"But we were going to spend our Christmas money on tickets to Jamaica this year, remember?"

Ron leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. "Merlin's balls, I _know_ , Harry."

"Well, of course you know about Jamaica, it was your idea."

"No, Harry," he said, lifting his face, but keeping his eyes squeezed shut, "I mean _I know_!"

"Ron," said Harry, with the patience of one speaking to an inhabitant of St. Mungo's, "I'm sure you know a great many things, but—"

" _I know you and Malfoy used the butt machine!_ "

Harry swallowed. "Oh," he said. "Er. _That_."

Ron covered his eyes again.

"Er…well…that is…how did you know? I mean, we were careful—"

Harry could have sworn Ron blushed underneath the cover of his large hands. "You activated the, er, monitoring system in the wall."

Harry blinked. "You have a security system in the room with the butt machine?"

"Well, it's not so much a _security_ system, per se," Ron mumbled into his hands. "It's…well…."

His meaning hit Harry with the speed of a hippogriff talon to the arm. "You _record_ yourself in there?"

Ron's strangled moan seemed intended as affirmation.

"Does Hermione know that?"

Ron muttered into his hands.

"What?"

Ron looked up, his face nearly the color of the Weasley jumpers that littered his closet. "She set up the charms!"

"Oh." They subsided into silence for several moments. "Well," Harry continued at last, "I still don't think I can accept it. I know how much store you set by it."

"I don't want it anymore."

"Come on, Ron, I know you love it."

Ron growled. "Just take the bloody thing, will you? I can't stomach the thought of using something that's been inside of Malfoy."

"But it's not the fir—er." Harry stopped abruptly, looking uncomfortable.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "What were you going to say?"

"Well, you—I—"

Ron blanched. "Please don't tell me you'd already been fucking Malfoy that time we—"

Harry colored.

Ron glared. " _Don't tell me that!_ "

"OK," Harry said. "I won't tell you that."

Ron looked sick.

*

A few weeks later, Harry led Draco, blindfolded, into his flat. "Really, Potter," Draco drawled, "it's not as if we haven't done this whole blindfolding thing enough already that you need to make a big deal out of it. And I thought we'd agreed that next time we would use _silk_ scarves, instead of these hideous polyester things you persist in clinging to."

"Oh, stuff a sock in it," Harry said fondly. "Here." He drew the scarf off Draco's head, and grinned at the expression of awe on the other man's face. "Happy Birthday."

The pair of shining machines perched side by side in the flat's spare bedroom, and Draco stared so long, Harry waved a hand under his nose to make sure he was still breathing. "Do you like it?" he asked anxiously. "I mean, you know I had no problem with you using mine, but this way—"

"Potter," Draco interrupted. "You are the most aggravating, ill-bred, _wonderful_ man I have ever met."

Harry grinned. "You like it, then?"

"Oh, I don't think _like_ quite expresses what I'm feeling right now," he said, then turned to Harry with a frown. "But how will we control the machines on each other when we each have one?"

"Oh, easy," Harry said, still grinning. "Hermione helped me put together a series of charms so that we each can control the other's machine through voice alone."

"I suppose now you want me to admit that even Granger and Weasel have their uses?"

Harry laughed. "I'd never expect you to sink so low as _that_."

"Well, just as long as we're clear." But one hand reached to squeeze Harry's, and the other grasped Harry's chin as they leaned in to exchange a long kiss. "I love it," he murmured.

"And nothing says love quite like a butt machine," Harry laughed.

"What do you say we try a little of that love right now?"

"I've no objection to that."

As Draco began to divest himself of his clothes, he paused to give Harry a suspicious look. "You didn't by any chance follow the Weasel's lead as far as monitoring charms, too, did you?"

Harry only winked, then pressed him up against the warm, smooth seat of the machine and sealed his mouth against Draco's. After that, there were no more questions—at least of that nature—for a long, long time.


End file.
